Torn between two conflicting emotions. On one side I've got that Christmas is almost here music fun anticipation (tempered with a touch of worrying about overdoing it or about overloading B) what with the Zero show in Petaluma this Saturday (no opening act!), Phil Lesh benefit on Monday (still looking for a ticket for Non), flying to New Orleans on Tuesday (for the first weekend of JazzFest, which Dick said, per his sister, may be in some kind of trouble now that its founder/owner has sold out), and returning only next Tuesday (with more shows - Sonic Youth and the funky Meters - lined up in May) to a likely pile of to-do's.

Which brings up that conflicting feeling, that there's already not enough time to finish reviewing page proofs of the Busy People book (thanks, MS, for changing the Internet Explorer logo in the "release candidate one" (there was a zero) of Windows 98), get the next BeOS chapter done, or - for that matter - get the elusive episode 14 (Spring 98) of Enterzone published.

Still contemplating a redesign. Want to separate nav from content. Considering a database-backed approach. Bought the (mundanely titled) dead-trees edition of Philip Greenspun's How to Be a Web Whore Just Like Me, one of the few computer books I've ever enjoyed reading, even if most nongeeks and nonprogrammers (myself included) would be put off by the (admittedly cheerful) arrogance and compression of the explanations, everything in wunderkind shorthand.

Any changes of structure will most likely have to wait for episode 15 (Summer). My best bet is to tackle the uncoded stuff this Sunday and finish it up Monday, if necessary (and possible).

x

Going now to pick up the roll of film showing the original damage to Mr. Bean. As when I front-ended B's old Datsun, we both thought it better that the car's "owner" (that is, the one with the greater personal attachment to the car) not see the damage before it was fixed. Ironically, the second day or so that I took out Mr. Bean, I parked it on the street and someone struck the (driver's side) rear-view mirror, scraping a zig of paint down to the metal (likely now to rust, as I am loathe to spend money for touch-ups). The car is now ritually marked or scarred (and, from the accident, no longer a virgin). Time to stop pussyfooting around.

Why do I keep writing dates as 2/x when it's already 4/17?